The Highlander's Bride (26 page)

The whole night she had been thinking about what was to come. Even now, in Conor’s arms watching him latch the solar door, she could only remember bits and pieces of the ceremony and the festivities afterwards.

She remembered Conor in his white crisp leine and outer mantle with the McTiernay colors. The shirt was drawn up to his knees with a leather belt that also held his plaid.

Laurel had never seen a finer-looking man.

His brothers and honor guard wore the same attire. All of them carried swords—even Clyde—and used them to create an arch Conor and she walked under at the beginning and end of the ceremony.

The only two parts of the service Laurel could clearly recall was the quaich ceremony and the rings. The quaich or unity cup ceremony symbolized the union of the bride and the groom’s two families, as well as the bride and groom themselves. Cole poured water into two silver toasting goblets with the McTiernay crest on them. Then she and Conor simultaneously poured the water from the goblets into a beautiful quaich. Drinking from the cup, they drank to past, present, and future happiness with each other.

She had not recognized the cup they used. There were several in the great hall kept aside for offering whisky or brandy to guests, although most traveled with their own. Like most quaiches, this one was wide and shallow and made of wood with a pair of small silver lug handles projecting horizontally from opposite sides of the rim. The lugs, though functional, had intricate carvings that gave the quaich much of its special character. This one, unlike the others made of commonly available wood products, was built with light and dark wood staves and bound with withies or metal bands. Masking and sealing the centre of the bowl where the points of the staves met was an engraved coin of the McTiernay crest.

The only other thing she could recall of the ceremony was the giving of the rings. Scots, including her grandfather, believed that a vein in the third finger of the left hand ran directly to the heart. As Conor slipped the simple gold band onto her finger, he spoke of their strong connection and heartfelt love for and commitment to each another.

The rest of the ceremony, including the vows, was a blur. When they left the chapel, a thin loaf of bread was unexpectedly broken over her head. She stared dumbfounded, watching women scurry about eagerly picking up the crumbs. She was told later that the bread symbolized fertility, and the crumbs were considered good luck charms.
If all these charms and traditions work, Conor and I will have an untold number of children,
she thought.

The reception must have been a great success. She remembered dancing with many guests and laughing at the antics of her new brothers.

Fiona had outdone herself. The food was superb and relished by everyone. It seemed that every other minute someone was toasting her, or Conor, or them both. Suddenly, as she was pressured into another reel, Conor came over, picked her up and headed out of the great hall indicating that, for them, the party—at least the one in the hall—was over.

“Aren’t you going to put me down?” Laurel asked as Conor carried her up the stairs to his solar in the Star Tower.

He didn’t answer, continuing his march towards his room. He had not been able to breathe properly since the second he saw her in the chapel looking amazingly exquisite. The woman of his dreams had married him today. Several times, he felt himself growing overcome with emotion. In such a short time, she had become the most important thing in his life. These past few weeks had proven that they could depend on, listen to, and support each other for the rest of their lives.

He locked the door behind them before he put her down. Standing so close, it was impossible not to touch her face and stroke her hair. He thought her to be the most beautiful creature in Scotland and, from the expressions he kept seeing again and again, so did every other highlander who saw her. He had tried not react to the jealousy that pulled at him all evening, but when the last soldier—from Laird Schellden’s guard—had physically lifted Laurel and whirled her around in a supposed dance, he could stand no more.

It was tempting to declare a new rule that no one other than himself could go within five feet of her.

Conor drew Laurel close, holding her near to his heart. He inhaled. The smell of her hair was driving him wild with a need that had been plaguing him since they had first made love. And now, his one thought, his one focus, his one overpowering desire, was to make Laurel his wife in every way.

“I love you, Lady McTiernay,” he told her, his voice raspy with emotion.

“And I love you, Conor,” she replied, her face radiant with joy. And, with those words, all of her nervousness and questions disappeared. She reached up and put her hand behind his neck as he bent down to give her the night’s first kiss.

As their lips met, Conor lost all thought as he tasted and drank from her soft and supple mouth. She yielded all, even in the simple kiss they were sharing.

Conor framed her face with his hands and continued the slow, seductive, mind-numbing kiss, suffusing her body with an aching need for more.

He felt her shiver in his arms, but she did not pull away. He was already fully aroused. Kissing her long and soft and deep, playing with her willing and open lips, he captured her tongue and drew it into his own mouth.

Moaning, Laurel tried to deepen the embrace and increase their pace. Refusing to rush anything they were going to share tonight, Conor moved along her cheeks and temples, continuing the light, soft, tender onslaught with his mouth. He reached her ear and began nibbling her earlobe.

Her throat constricted with desire.

“I thought I’d never get you alone,” he muttered as he covered her mouth with his own.

He nipped playfully at her lower lip, then caught and held her close for a deeper kiss. Conor let his tongue probe the warmth of Laurel’s mouth as he slid his hands slowly up her spine.

She was melting in his arms, remaining upright only due to his strength. Shivers ran through her as he kissed her neck and shoulders once again. His caresses were so soft, so completely different than the last time. Different, but just as powerful.

“Hold me,” she pleaded. “Never let me go. Promise me, you will never let me go.”

He looked up and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Never, my love. Never.” His liquid silver eyes were luminous with love, possession and desire. “You are forever mine. And I will forever be yours.”

His fingers tightened tenderly on the nape of her neck and then slipped beneath the back of her dress. Conor returned his lips to hers. Their lips embraced, moving hungrily against each other. Their tongues teased, tasted, tantalized.

His hands moved toward her hair. He briefly interrupted his gentle, yet persistent foray over her skin to remove her headpiece, and then her necklace, placing them on the table next to the window. Next, he bent down and slowly removed her slippers caressing her calves. Every time he made contact with her skin, he craved her more.

Laurel never dreamed that she could need to touch a man as much as she wanted to touch the highland chieftain who now stood before her. When he reached out to continue his unhurried removal of her gown, she stopped him by clasping his hands in her own. She kissed them and then moved them down to his sides. She smiled when his silver eyes sparkled with curiosity.

She couldn’t believe her boldness and started biting her bottom lip. She reached out and took off his tunic and then his plaid, leaving only his saffron shirt cinched by his leather belt. She reached down and with timid fingers began to loosen the leather. They were standing so close now, but still only touching through her finger tips. He radiated primitive masculine vitality, and she started to hesitate.

The light touches, her breath on his skin, the view of her heaving chest caused him exquisite pain. And he wanted more.

“Ahh, don’t stop there, love,” he pleaded, seeing her freeze with apprehension.

She refused to look up, knowing that she would not be able to continue if she did. Only her pride refused to let her stop.

Her fingers were like butterfly kisses against his skin despite the leine he still wore. Conor watched her try to avoid touching him as she untied his belt from his waist. Once she succeeded, he felt her exhale. Unable to stand any more, he held her face in his hands, bent his head and kissed her, this time revealing all the desire and need that had erupted when she began to undress him.

Laurel’s response was unbelievable. She opened her mouth and welcomed him in, swirling her tongue against his own. He thrust into her mouth, then withdrew, then thrust again, stroking her boldly, forcefully.

Laurel clung to him, trembling. Her arms came up, and both her hands dove into his dark locks. When they first met, she was ignorant of kissing, of passion, and of sexual longing. Now, she was a raging inferno of desire, ready to burst into flames. It was staggering.

Her breasts were suddenly pressed against his chest as she moved closer demanding more. His hands went from her hair to untie the back of her gown, freeing the restraints of the sleeves. His lips left her mouth and started a trail of sweltering kisses along her cheek.

As he worked his way down, she felt her gown release and slip away, leaving only the thin gossamer shift she wore beneath.

When his mouth encircled her breasts through the filmy material, she gasped and shuddered in response. “You are so beautiful,” he muttered, completely awed.

Laurel sucked in her breath, her fingers biting into Conor’s shoulders. How could something so simple as a kiss through her shift make her feel like she was about to dissolve into nothing?

His tongue swirled around her nipple over and over again, teasing the taut nubs. The stimulus was almost too much, and Laurel thought she could stand no more. Then she felt his hands on her legs slowly stroking her as they lifted the sheer garment over her head.

Suddenly, she was naked in front of him, but so fueled with desire that thoughts of shyness were abandoned as he continued his attack on her senses.

“God, you taste so good.”

His hands could not seem to stop moving, wanting to feel and caress every piece of her body. Not one feature would go left untouched by him tonight, he vowed silently.

Laurel was now quivering so violently she could no longer stand. He smiled hungrily, his eyes full of love and unfulfilled need, and scooped her up in his arms.

She closed her eyes, loving Conor’s strength as he carried her across the room and placed her in the center of his bed. Quickly, he removed the final piece of clothing that separated them and moved to lie beside her.

“Your eyes are the deepest shade of blue right now,” he whispered.

“I thought they were green,” she answered, softly fingering his dark hair. Just a few nights ago over dinner, he had been telling her they were the purest of sea greens he had ever seen.

“Aye, they are. But they are ever changing with your moods. Right now I am drowning in the colors of the ocean. You are truly are beautiful, Laurel. But your beauty is not only of the body, but of the spirit as well. I had come to believe that I was alone in this world. I no longer thought that there could be someone like you out there. Someone who cares for others as you do, but with the fire and determination it takes to survive in these lands. But here you are, and you are mine,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “I will never let you go.”

She felt tears form at his words and they began to fall along her cheeks. “I love you, Conor. With all of my heart. Forever.”

He leaned over and caressed her lips with his own, positioning himself over her, still bearing the burden of his bulk on his side. He began stroking her breasts, rubbing his palms over the rosy nipples until they were hard with desire. His heart pounded.

Continuing to caress her bosom, Conor started a trail of kisses from her neck to the valley between her breasts. Then slowly, he lowered his mouth and encompassed a pink bud. Flicking his tongue over the sensitive flesh, he lightly squeezed and suckled the taut nub between his lips.

Her body began to writhe with ferocious need. “Conor! It’s too much,” she cried, clutching at the blankets on the bed.

Conor responded by using his leg to nudge Laurel’s knees apart so that his hands could stroke her soft skin. His fingers caressed her inner thigh, sending shockwaves throughout her body. Her lower region was tightening in response and the warmth between her legs was growing hot, very hot.

Slowly stroking her thighs, his hands reached closer and closer to her apex. She remembered what sensations his fingers had produced last time and lifted herself, wanting more. But each time as he approached the core of her desire, he would move away. Then, instead of touching her there, loving her with her fingers as he had before, he moved to massage her breasts. He stroked and then massaged until she was out of her mind calling his name over and over.

His control was on the verge of snapping. Only his need to see her come to fulfillment kept him sane. His lips broke away from hers, and he positioned himself on top of her moving down until his mouth roamed the valley between her breasts. He tasted the salt of the glistening film of perspiration forming there. His teeth were light and tantalizing on her taut nipples. Repeatedly, he flicked his tongue over the sensitive flesh, and then he began to suckle.

The added stimulus was almost too much, and Laurel arched beneath him. Still, he continued to suckle and lick each nipple, causing torrents of shudders to run through her body.

The pleasure she felt was so akin to pain, it was overwhelming. She could not stand the pressure any more. She would explode if he did not touch her there soon. “Please, Conor. Please!” she cried.

Suddenly his hand gently closed around her, and he dampened his fingers in her liquid heat. Testing her with one, then two fingers, Conor stroked her slowly, parting her, opening her. Laurel buried her head in his shoulder, trembling violently with need.

Gradually, he increased his pace, deliberately teasing her female flesh. His fingers twisted, moving in and out of her, stroking the flames. He did it again. And again.